Bahama Mama Man!
by girl in the glen
Summary: It started out to be such a lovely evening...


Napoleon Solo had a throbbing sensation in his skull that made him want to throw up. That usually meant only one thing.

 _"THRUSH."_

The word came out of his mouth like a hiss, the disdain for the current predicament a familiar churning in his stomach. His head was pounding, but he had enough acuity to realize he was not tethered to anything. Not that he felt like moving, but that was beside the point; he had to get up and find a way out of here.

Slowly the events of the previous night began to crystallize in his mind, the party and a young woman named Beatrice.

"Illya was with her,' again he spoke out loud. "out on the balcony, right before something hit me on the head." Had it happened in clear view of the party goers? That was bold, even for THRUSH.

He was in a bedroom. But why had he come to on the floor if there was a bed…? Napoleon looked around as his head began to clear, and that's when he saw her.

"Beatrice?" He went to the bed where Beatrice lay, her eyes closed. Was she asleep or …' Napoleon had another knot in his stomach. She was in a pale yellow dress that seemed to accentuate her dark complexion. Red hair and a tan that only nature could endow had made Beatrice stand out among an otherwise lackluster group. Illya had noticed her first and indicated to Napoleon that their contact was in the room. British Intelligence had agreed to a joint venture with UNCLE, a mission to dismantle the THRUSH presence here in the Bahamas. The party had been orchestrated to draw out the society hound chief whose career within the Hierarchy was second only to his thirst for being accepted into a higher echelon of society.

"I think this is my turn." Illya said it with a smirk, their agreement to alternate the role of first contact had fallen this time to the Russian. He had been very patient, waiting for the perfect opportunity, and this would do nicely.

"Yeah, right… Don't think I won't remember this… calculating Russian." Napoleon sat down at their table to watch as Illya made his way over to Beatrice Noble, MI6 agent and drop dead gorgeous.

Beatrice watched as the blond approached. She had spotted the UNCLE agents early on, waiting for them to make the first move. She was aware of the reputations shared by this team, and as Kuryakin drew near she felt a tingle run down her spine. He was better looking than the photographs she had seen, especially in a tuxedo. Solo was the other half, the dark haired sophisticate to this blond bohemian. At least that was her fantasy.

"May I have this dance?" His voice was deep, the intonation somehow more inviting than she expected.

"We could dance, or we could take a stroll out on the balcony, away from prying eyes. I think Deemer has someone watching for people like you and me." Illya nodded, placing his hand on her back as he guided her to the open doors that led to a sumptuously adorned balcony. Topiaries that stretched upward shared space with floral arrangements that flowed from the ballroom to the outdoors. It smelled of roses and hyacinth, and a deep breath became an intoxication of rich fragrance.

"So you have spotted Deemers? We didn't have a photograph of him, so Napoleon and I are flying blind, as it were." Illya was captivated by Beatrice, but intent on keeping things strictly business; at least for now.

"He's the one in the white tuxedo, with pure white hair. He has this image of himself as some sort of White Knight, although his agenda is decidedly dark. He is slashing his way through THRUSH's maze of operations as he climbs to the top. Here in the Bahamas he intends to overthrow British rule and establish his own little kingdom." Beatrice smiled at that last bit, the notion of a revolt here was ludicrous.

"We can take him out tonight." As Illya said that a sleep dart punctured the skin on the back of his neck. He got one last glimpse of Beatrice as she too succumbed to the THRUSH attack.

Illya woke up with a pounding headache, the calling card of THRUSH drugs. He couldn't remember getting here, only vaguely recalled the sting of the dart and the sight of Beatrice as she slowly fell against a trellis of yellow roses. Beatrice. He wondered where she was. Where was Napoleon?

"Ah, Mr. Kuryakin. I do so enjoy meeting new people, especially UNCLE agents who try to ruin my fun in the sun. You might have heard, the Bahamas will soon be my own person playground." Roger Deemers was standing in a pose generally reserved for catalog models, his white hair brushed back dramatically and falling over the collar of his white tuxedo jacket. The man was good looking, older than he looked with that hair.

"I suppose you have plans for me of an unpleasant nature." Illya got right to the point.

"Well, since you put it that way… Yes." And he would have followed through on that had not one of his own guards, a young black man, shot him in the back, killing him instantly. Illya jumped back to avoid Deemer's body falling against him, unsure what might come next.

"Mr. Kuryakin, my name is Duncan Jacques, and I am not a member of THRUSH. I am a Bahamian who will not let men like Deemers ruin our islands with their lust for power."

Illya was impressed, and greatly relieved. It seemed Duncan and a few of his friends had feigned allegiance to Deemers and THRUSH in order to infiltrate the man's organization, with the intention of stopping him completely.

"I'd say you have succeeded, no thanks to MI6 or UNCLE. Now, we need to find my partner and Miss Noble…"

"Sir, they are down this hall. Come with me."

By the time they reached the room where Napoleon and Beatrice were stashed each of them was fully awake and trying to find a way out of their prison. Illya let Duncan unlock the door and they both entered, calling out to his friend in order to avoid any physical confrontation.

"Illya, how did you … who's this?"

Illya related the story and the actions taken by Duncan. Both Beatrice and Napoleon were impressed that nationals would take it upon themselves to stop someone attempting to usurp power from the Crown, grateful that this mission had been cut mercifully short. That meant, perhaps, enjoying the islands for a few days.

As it happened, Mr. Waverly did allow his men to stay on longer, but it was in order to prepare for another mission; this time in Jamaica.

"I suppose a tan is inevitable." Illya wasn't a sun lover for the most part, but the beaches of the caribbean were beginning to have some appeal.

Beatrice, as it turned out, was already in a relationship with a member of the House of Lords, although her fantasies featuring Illya and Napoleon didn't necessarily end as she boarded the flight home. After all, UNCLE agents had a reputation around the globe that rivaled Britain's 007, and after meeting these two, she understood why.


End file.
